


Stay After Class

by anthroxagorus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Everyone/Everyone - Freeform, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PWP, Sex Magic, Teacher/Student, What can I say except you're welcome, after Brenna Twohy... long live Potter erotica, everyone is too horny for a sexual orientation so I guess everyone is pansexual AND LOVING IT, harry/everyone - Freeform, please don't yuck my yum, writing one-handed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-01-30 05:37:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21423058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthroxagorus/pseuds/anthroxagorus
Summary: In your sixth year of Hogwarts, you get to bang your teachers. Who knew? Harry Potter, the most oblivious protagonist in history, sure didn't. But, hey, you gotta learn about sex magic somehow. (HP/SS focus)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Lucius Malfoy, Harry Potter/Everyone, Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Minerva McGonagall, Rubeus Hagrid/Draco Malfoy, Sybill Trelawney/Ron Weasley
Comments: 54
Kudos: 205





	1. Chapter 1

“So who do you think you're going for?” Ron asked, attempting to be casual, but Harry, as per usual, had no idea what he was talking about or what was going on. He and his best friend Ron - and his other best friend Hermione - had justreturned to Hogwarts for their sixth year, and Harry had been mostly preoccupied with mourning his godfather. With some awareness, he knew they were walking from lunch and now had their school schedules for the following week.

“Going for?” Harry asked.

“You _know_?” Ron returned, waving his school schedule.

If possible, Harry was even more lost.

“_Night hours_?” For emphasis, Ron shook his school schedule in Harry's face. “See?”

Harry couldn't, really (because of the shaking). “Do we still have curfew?”

Ron stopped waving his schedule and had now gone very red. His eyes darted to Hermione's as a plea for help, but Help didn't come. Help looked Helpless.

“So muggles don't... oh, shit, okay.” Ron ushered his friends into an empty classroom and closed the door behind them. Hermione coughed at the flurry of dust. “It's below your schedule, the, uh, the _hours_...” Ron began.

Harry squinted at his own schedule and saw each of his professors listed, with a day and hours listed after. Some of his professors were available only on Fridays, some as Mondays and Wednesdays, but they all occurred after curfew. Harry noticed Severus Snape (as his eyes tended to drift to) had Thursday listed, 9pm-12am.

“I noticed that was a strange time to host additional office hours,” Hermione noted.

“Well, they're not exactly...”

“Ronald, just spit it out!”

“Okay, right, someone's got to tell you.” Ron took a few deep breaths and then jumped a few times, hyping himself up. “Okay, okay, so it's our sixth year, right? Right. And, uh, so, during those hours you can go and get these _special_ lessons.”

“You want to go to night school?”

“On _sex_!” Ron blurted out, and then turned another red shade darker.

“W-Well, then...” Hermione said, flustering now herself, and then examining her schedule again with a new interest. “So it's...”

“You go for the teacher you want and Bill said there's usually a line or, like, uh Professor McMonagall only does appointments, and whatever, he didn't really _bother_ with it much but it's practice.”

“Practice?” Hermione breathed oddly.

“Yeah, because sex magic's dangerous!” Ron said. “I keep forgetting how much you guys don't know. You gotta go at least once, see?”

And there it was in the fine print at the very bottom of the list.

“So you pick whoever you want.”

“Huh? Oh, you've got to go to a witch at least once,” he answered for her. “And I'll have to go to wizard. You have to do both. You know?”

This also was in the fine print, a reminder.

“_Really_?” Hermione said, her lips now moist. “So what wizard are you...?”

“Er...” Ron stared at the list a moment, then shrugged.

What he said next swiped all thoughts of Harry's godfather away.

“I hear Snape's good.”

* * *

That next week, Harry found himself studying all of his professors in turn for who he was going to apparently _do it_ with. This had also prompted a few boners, but he wasn't exactly alone there, as he noticed his classmates shifting in their chairs, and biting their lips. From what he had gathered, most people went to their respective heads of household or for older witches and wizards who had more to teach. Rumor had it that Dumbledore occasionally opened his door to students, but his hours were so erratic, no one knew when to check. Few wanted to talk about it, except for Ron, who was surprisingly a fountain of wisdom in this area on who was good and even _what_ they were good at.

At Ron's admission regarding their former Potions professor, Harry spent most of his time examining the man's lips, his hands, the fluidity of his motions, which _did_ seem have some sort of grace he'd never noticed. When he talked about the dark arts, his voice had a way of wrapping around Harry's neck, murmuring warmly in his ear. But what would the man think if Harry went to him?

And what would Snape do with him?

Harry had only experimented in the showers with touching himself and found he rather liked it. He especially liked it now, with the promise of something more physical ahead. His ministrations felt purposeful, no longer aimless. He jerked off with promise, and came harder than ever with all the new fantasies he had.

Harry'd had even considered what the cool sensation of Professor Binn's ghostly hands would feel like, or the thrill of Professor Flitwick's small frame or even what sex would be with a _centaur_ \- Firenze was _very _popular apparently! (Would the centaur mount him, or would Harry take him from behind, or... was there some sort of position that he could suck Harry off? _Would he_? Ron had heard that was his specialty.) Harry had also heard of some wild things about Hagrid, though he wasn't considered an option, he could be persuaded. Harry wondered if Hagrid would be up to it...

He thought of his female professors, too, of course. Professor Vector was supposedly very into bondage. She only took one student a night, but worked with that student all night. Ron reported they always came back jelly-legged, bruised and deeply satisfied. That sounded promising... And Madam Hooch mixed her magic with flying lessons... Harry had thought of some _very_ interesting positions that might be achieved in the air. That, too, seemed promising. He had thought a lot of their bodies twisting together in mid-air on the Quidditch pitch, weightless, together... and Professor Sprout reportedly only taught in groups, and that got Harry thinking about his fellow students and who he'd like to be with....

Before, Harry had thought only vaguely of fucking - thrusting into something more substantial and welcoming than his own hand and the pitiful circle they made, may it be cunt or mouth or even an ass - he really wasn't picky there. Now there were so many other thoughts in his head...

Merlin, Harry thought, returning to a favorite fantasy, would he be able to hold Snape's head down, fucking the man's throat, gaining grip of the long, silky threads....? Was there any better feeling of getting your cock sucked?

How did anyone focus on their NEWTS testing?!

Harry noticed that as his fellow students had taken a new interest in their teachers, so too had the teachers regarded them with a new interest. Many of them, Slughorn especially, made a point to catch Harry's eye, or to touch his shoulder as they walked by. Snape's gaze, Harry noticed, had been something hardened, and then maybe intrigued by Harry's interest. Harry found he also liked the look in Professor Trelawny's eyes when her gaze met his. It sent a delicious shiver down his spine that he tried to surpress in the dining room, the hallway, the staircase, or wherever they seemed to meet.

Not that any of those professors would initiate the first move, as was custom (according to Ron). What happened was entirely in the student's hands...

Hogwarts was the best.

He and Ron took to drawing the curtains around Harry's bed and talking quietly about who they were planning for and what they planned to do, all the while a very prominent erection came into Harry's view. Ron had even shyly offered to stroke Harry off, just as fascinated by the bulge in Harry's pajamas.

“S'long as you don't come, it should be okay,” Ron had told him, rubbing his thigh, but Harry had enough trouble with magic. Merlin help him if Voldemort somehow interferred.

For all that talk, Hermione was the first of their trio to go to a Professor's night hours, but she wouldn't say who for weeks. “It was...” she said, trailing off, and then: “I learned so much!” She rearranged her legs and beamed at them with her new knowledge, joining them in their tent.

“Go on,” Ron said, focused on her nipples hard and present.

“Well.”

Harry pinched the nipple closest to him and watched her bite back a squeal.

“It was _intense_,” she said, when her breath had steadied. “I've never felt so connected with my magic! I've never felt, so, well... you know.” And she very carefully rearranged her legs again, suggesting suddenly they actually get to studying.

Professor McGonagall had apparently made a big impression on her.

As for studying, Harry spent the whole time touching himself, a light caress to appease his erection until he could be alone again. The constant ache paired with Hermione's affirmation solidified in his mind. He would have to visit a professor as soon as possible.

* * *

Testimonies poured in from his other classmates to the techniques of their professors, but Harry kept finding his mind turning to Severus Snape, and had decided to accept it. He was so horny these days, he didn't know how to talk himself out of it anymore. His grades were slipping, he needed to focus. To focus, he had to fuck. Or get fucked. (Both options rolled around in his mind)

After Defense Against the Dark Arts that following Thursday, Harry approached Snape at his desk and wondered if his oncoming hard-on that was now hiding behind the man's desk would either help or hinder his case. He compromised by standing a slight distance for the desk, but crossed his arms tightly against his chest.

“Is there an appointment?” he asked, sounding raspy and perhaps even desperate.

“An appointment?” the man returned, a smooth honey. His gaze told Harry he knew exactly what he was asking, but wanted to hear him say it.

“For the night hours?” Harry continued, mesmerized by those lips, the pressing together, and coming apart when he spoke. With any encouragement, he would've crawled across that desk and planted himself directly in Snape's lap.

But no encouragement came. Snape only appeared amused. “I do not take appointments, there are too many.. interested. First come, first serve, as they say. 9 o'clock.”

_Merlin,_ _he wanted to be served_.

“O-Okay, 9 o'clock,” Harry said, adjusting himself as he turned to go. He felt those grey eyes follow that motion, and then, he imagined, watching him leave.

Oh, he'd be there.

* * *

Maybe it should have bothered Harry how desperately he craved Snape - or even just another man - but he'd reasoned that somehow it felt safer than going for a woman, at least for the first time. There wasn't new equipment to figure out, And something about all the talk of magic with sex made him nervous. Of all his professors (perhaps beside Dumbledore), Snape would know what to do if his scar started hurting. It was a layer of assurance that he blanketed over his lust. The last thing he needed was Voldemort to know about what he was doing.

Harry showered an hour before he would meet with Snape, and was almost breathless from how sensitive his body was, from shoulder to thigh. Hot water would hit him, and send pleasure up and down his spine, wiping soap on his body became a teasing game, the closer he came to his cock, the more it would twitch and stand to attention, and Merlin, he wanted to, but he wanted Snape's hands even more. He washed that bit quickly, promising a later release, and then wriggled two fingers inside himself, determined to be clean there too... just in case.

He turned the water off and then stood before the mirror, all primal instinct. He'd spent too much time fighting with himself and thought of walking straight to Snape's room as this, naked, and ready, dripping water the entire way. But no, what if he just wrote him a detention slip and sent him away?

He wasn't even the first there, some Ravenclaw boy stood before the door, playing with his tie and as the clock struck the hour, Harry watched him enter Snape's chambers, before him, in his place. He bit back disappointment and had no other option but to wait in line wondering if someone could die from being this horny.

Some time later the door slid back open and a half-dressed Ravenclaw boy stumbled out, grinning ear to ear; those that had joined Harry in line watched him leave with equal envy and then back to their professor, who had on a silky, black robe, parted but obscured. Snape's eyes grazed Harry's body and Harry hoped the maroon shirt he'd picked brought out his green eyes (which Hermione said was a good thing), that his hair was left messy and “fuckable” (as was Ron's comment).

“Late, were we?” Snape said, stepping aside for Harry to enter, and parting the black robe he wore just enough to give Harry an eye-full. Any smart-ass comment or flirty thing he could muster left his mind with just a singular, repeating thought.

_Merlin, just fuck me._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has his first night session with Snape. Ron tells us about his good time with Trelawney.

Harry tried to unglue his eyes from Snape's cock, while he was certain the man was laughing at him. Sure, he'd seen other cocks before in the locker room, but this one was mature, dark, and thick. And somehow Harry would make it fit inside him.

“This is your first time?” Snape asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, sounding raspy. He cleared his throat. “Er... should I...?”

He now had the distinct thought Snape thought he was an idiot. “Do you want to do this clothed?” he asked. “Lie on the bed.” Harry did so, shucking his uniform off but leaving his socks on, and stretching out on the bed, trying to not think of how many others had been there.

“I'm curious why you would have chosen me,” Snape said, standing just before him. "Do you think I'm going to _service_ you?”

“I don't care what you do to me,” Harry said honestly.

“I'm also curious what your father would think, with you being here,” he continued, ignoring Harry's response. A new chill went down Harry.

“Doesn't matter,” Harry said.

“I assure you it does,” he said and his voice took on that honeyed quality. “Your every intention and every thought is heightened in this form of magic. You'll find your magic stronger, more accessible, more focused, but only if you are aware what you're focused on. If you can't tell me why you're here, you're wasting my time.”

Harry sat up and then glared at his professor. “I'm focused,” Harry said. “on getting_ fucked_ by _you_.”

“You'd like to be fucked?”

“Well yeah, and I want it to be you because you're, you know, _hot_,” Harry said, wondering how he'd ever thought the man was anything but sensuous. His cock leapt back into attention as if to make his point. “And Ron said you're good at it.”

“I'm not looking for compliments,” Snape responded, looking pleased all the same.

“Then what do you want me to say?” Harry said, feeling desperate and lost. Was he supposed to want to do the fucking?

“The things you will think about as soon as you are satiated,” he said, and then he began to stroke himself. “Lie back, Potter.”

Harry felt the dip of the bed; his breath caught as the man crawled over him, his robe purposefully arranged to cover their bodies. Harry stared down at where their bodies met, the lithe body above him in contrast to his pale, small body, and, of course, at their cocks. Passingly, he thought that this was a very different, but much better lesson, than the extra classes they'd had the previous year.

“I want you to feel your magic,” he said softly, “in the same way you felt that surge or power when you first held your wand, you felt something before, you feel it now, but you may not notice it as it is so much a part of you. Feel your magic, but do not act with it.” He shifted his weight, squeezed his thighs into Harry's legs, and stroked his thigh. Harry felt a low hum throughout his body - his magic? Amazing. It was just his thigh but no one else had ever touched it before and it felt like something completely new. Harry watched the slow circle of his hand until - his stomach went taunt - that touch drifted to his cock, electricity moved from his center out to his limbs and waved back. Snape's thumb rubbed his tip; sparks flew.

Harry made a desperate grab downwards to reciprocate, but the other man was just out of reach. “Please...” Harry said and heard the whine in his voice.

“Focus,” he said, his voice lower. His strokes were slick, maddeningly slow from base to tip. Harry felt so good, he wanted to cry, or maybe he did and he didn't care, because the only thing now was that thrill of pleasure, that anchor. He felt his hips bucking forward, matching Snape's hand and pace...

“When you come-” Snape started, but Harry's back arched and he came hard, suddenly and too quickly, and crying out louder than he realized he was being. His cum painted his professor's hand and wrist, Harry saw. He was reduced to panting desperately until he could speak again.

“Oh Merlin,” Harry said. “Oh, what was I...?”

“Good,” Snape said, and then he began wiping his hands from a towel from seemingly nowhere. He sat up then, cold air rushed forward, reminding Harry they were in the dungeons, and there was nothing now between that cold air and his skin. “Now get dressed. I'll see you in class.” His clothes were thrown at him; hazy, he obeyed and was out the door, and past the line of his classmates.

Moments later, he was back in his dorm, the curtains of his bed drawn up. Ron was apparently still out, as well as Seamus, while the others, as far as Harry was aware, were asleep.

Harry, warm and grinning sank into his bed and played with his wand. He understood that flush to Hermione, that comment that she felt connected to her magic. He couldn't stop smiling. Something warm and alive traveled throughout his veins and reminded him that he was a wizard, that magic was strong in his blood.

“Lumos,” he whispered, expecting a soft glow.

The entire room lit up.

He couldn't wait for next week.

* * *

Harry did notice how different his magic was after that night. He'd never noticed the strain he had when he casts spells, but there something effortless that happened now when he waved his wand. There was a newfound confidence, his spells were stronger. Last week he had trouble transfiguring his desk into a chair. Today, the spell worked on his first try and he spent it lounging with his friends as the rest of the class struggled. His Quidditch playing was much better, too. He felt lighter, even faster (though why he would be faster on the same broom didn't make sense).

This was all good, but Harry wanted to go back. Every time he touched himself, he realized how far away it was from the real thing. He tried closing his eyes and thinking of Snape's hands, the way he watched him and his soft breathing. It made him miss the heavy pressure of those thighs against him, the way he had watched him.

As for whatever Snape meant by his _intention, _that was totally lost on Harry. Yeah, they had a long history of hating each other, but so what? It was just sex. Or, well, _sex magic_. But still.

In Potions that next day, Harry and Ron were brewing an aphrodisiac and, of course, talking about the night hours again. With the Half-Blood Prince textbook, they were able to skip more complicated steps and focus on the conversation.

“I was going to wait on Snape,” Ron said, “but, you know, you were there, so I figured you'd tell me about it.”

“Right, and you went for Trelawney?”

“Yeah, it was crazy,” Ron scratched at the small bits of hair that covered his chin. “She keeps the tower all perfume-y but like, it's really nice, it makes you feel all funny.” He gave Harry an embarrassed grin, and then described what she looked like naked, how large her breasts were, and then what kissing her had been like, “wrapped up and warm.”

He waited for Harry to chime in but Harry only shrugged. “Snape didn't kiss me,” he said, by way of offering. “I mean, I've kissed Cho, guess it's like that? Wet.”

“She put her whole tongue in my mouth. It was _amazing_.”

“Okay, so, go on,” Harry said, adjusting his position.

“She then started going on about how magic works and how we feel magic when we're, you know, doing it, I mean, I don't remember a whole lot of what she said, but she, uh, you know got me started and then, uh, like, she was _on top_ of me and, oh yeah, I _definitely_ felt something.”

“Wait, you really _did_ it?” Harry sputtered.

“Well, yeah, isn't that the point?”

“Well, we, Snape and me, we didn't actually, you know, fuck.”

“Why not?”

“I mean, I did come pretty quick, but he was doing this thing with his hand and he was - you know, his voice and-”

“I came loads of times,” Ron said, frowning. “Right bastard of him, even Hermione got some real action out of McGonagall. I mean, did you just leave or?”

“He threw my clothes at me,” Harry reported, feeling stupid now. After how long he'd kept the Ravenclaw boy before him, why didn't Harry ask to stay longer?

“Total bastard,” Ron said, loyally.

“He wouldn't let me touch him, either,” Harry said. There was a pretty clear answer to Harry. Snape still hated him and refused to really teach him. He had been shit at teaching Potions to Harry, shit at Occulumency and shit at sex magic.

“Sybil let me touch her,” Ron said, and his voice took on a dreamy quality. “This part of her, it just, got really hard when I touched her and it was so _wet. _ Her _clit_. She said it felt real good, that guys have it too but like, in their butt. I mean, the whole thing looked like it felt good. She said she'd show me if I wanted, but I mean, I thought I'd try it myself first, or if you want, we could-”

“I'm going to choke that bastard,” Harry cut in, starting to feel very angry. His first time and every one around him was having a great time, while he got a hand job?

“That would be hot,” Ron said. “If you want, we could-”

“I'm serious, I'm going to, I don't know, talk to that guy.”

“Trelawney and Firenze have hours tonight, too, by the way. Or if you want, we could...?”

Harry groaned and slammed his head onto their joint table, sloshing their potion around and narrowly missing their cuttings. He wanted to get fucked, and he wanted it _now_. But with who? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is that poor boy to do?
> 
> Keep those suggestions coming, they are... entertaining.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione goes to the library, gets hot and bothered, and has her first night session with McGonagall.

Hermione had been studious with every subject she ever came across; the night sessions were no exception. They were _clearly _being taught so the students learned about how magic itself functioned, and then, with that knowledge, how to manage their magic in, er, coitus. Like every subject she came across, she would be the best at it.

Those nightly sessions didn't have grades attached to them. In Hermione's opinion, those were the worst sort of classes, because any class that operated in with pass/fail mentality, wasn't being taught properly. The lack of planning in the night sessions meant Hermione had to create her own grading scale in order to measure her progress (and then success)

The base-line of these sessions was to attend ONE (1) night session with a professor of each gender. Setting aside this obviously incorrect gendered binary, Hermione resolved that she would at least need to attend a session with each professor. Every professor (however they identified) would have their own teaching style for her to learn from, and she figured it would take a couple sessions with each in order to determine just want that style might be. This would couple with her Theory of Magic class. There was also readings she would assign herself and, of course, a couple of papers.

Which... she ought to do first, in order to determine what to expect... because, well...

This was Hermione's first _time_.

And while it seemed both her friends, Ron and Harry, hadn't taken that step themselves, she was actually a bit unusual among the other girls in having not, er, done _it. _Sure, some stuff had happened with Victor Krum - his large hand groping her chest, or his knee placed warmly between her legs, all in the midst of fairly heavy kissing. Victor Krum had also been very respectful about her hesitation, so while she felt his _thing _hard against her thigh, he never made a pass to do anything about it. Of course, everyone in her year thought otherwise of her virginity (another horrible term!), but they could think whatever they wanted as long as they knew she was the best at it.

Which she would be.

For purely theoretical reasons.

Her research dipped first into the library's Restricted Section, and as a sixth year, she made no secret about camping out there with a water flask, copious amounts of parchment, and knowledge within her reach. She thought first she should skim Sultry Theories of Sex Magic but then took up something with more diagrams and studied the body's magical currents as they flowed, and the ways sexual activity affected that.

This book in particular had a biological male wizard and biological female witch on its left page, and right page, and responded enthusiastically at her touch, the male jolting when her hand had first opened the page, the female beckoning Hermione closer. As her finger traced over their arms, chest, and legs, they squirmed, and the magic, represented by a pulsating purple line, rushed into view, and faded back as her finger retracted away. Though the library was empty as this time, and the stacks hid her from view, Hermione pulled the book closer into her lap and began to use both hands on the writhing bodies before her.

The male counterpart displayed stronger purple lines, then the female, and those lines more eager to wriggle to an outlet - the crotch, apparently. Grinning, she let her finger tease near, but not touch, the penis, instead tracing the balls or along the pubic bone. Shame the diagram couldn't turn over, as she had heard how sensitive and responsive men were when their butts were stimulated, but she was amused either way.

The female counterpart, though quite aroused, required more precise touches to stimulate the purple lines into view, but when that had been accomplished, they shone bright enough to come off the page. Hermione, blushing, tweaked the nipples of the female and thought about the purple glow that would be coming off her, had she been a diagram herself.

By now, the bottom of the book had slipped farther down into her and pressed into her crotch in a not unpleasant way. Hermione checked again for any nearby library patreons (none), and urged that tip against her. How sore she was was, how breathless it made her. She swallowed at the naked bodies she'd been feeling who seemed to be watching her hungrily, then opened her legs just a little further. Still, the book caught into her skirt and didn't hit as precisely as it could.

With no one around, she lifted her skirt and brought the book's corner against her panties, biting a lip. So much better and now, with the book a bit more closed, the diagram figures reached out for one another in relief. How like her, she thought, to find a way to masturbate with a book. Despite all the adventures she'd had with her best friends, this felt like the craziest thing she'd ever done in her life, but she didn't want to stop. Not yet. It simply felt good... but it could feel better. Surely there was a book in these stacks that were more suited for this...? She faced then the rows of her books and scanned the titles. She'd seen books that screamed, books that scampered around, couldn't there be a book that...?

No! There were dangerous books here, and she needed to calm down, stop what she was doing, before she got hurt... and imagine explaining that to Mdme Pomfrey!

She first needed to start with this book and then, when she was more advanced, she'd look for any other books.

The reading portion of her studying, she quickly decided, would have to be done concurrently with the practical aspect of her studying. The books taunted her, the cold showers frustrated her more, and all the talk with her friends made her feel as if she couldn't escape the topic long enough to recover!

Throughout the week, she'd examined her professors and measured their abilities and strengths mentally as to who she would want to start with. In some sense, she thought of starting with a male professor, as she was attracted to men, but undressing in front of, say, Professor Snape, seemed far too unnerving. So she'd pick a female professor, who at least would have matching parts with her... but this made the decision even more difficult - there were far too many choices! She could go from Professor Trelawney and not worry about messing up (as she wasn't overly fond of Trelawney to begin with), or she could try for an older professor... but would it be a waste to start on someone so _advanced_?

So focused on this question, she consulted her favorite professor, McGonagall, for an opinion and then, assessing the warm brown eyes that met her, made the decision instantly. “Are you free tonight?” she asked, almost faintly, and nearly melted under the catlike smirk she received. She recovered quickly to ask what she would need, to which McGonagall assured her would be nothing but herself, and, of course, clothes easy to remove...

From there, to calm her nerves, she reread passages from books and then assembled a list of questions she was hoping the encounter would help her answer. She then packed up books, parchment, and quills.

And then took a nice, hot shower for preparation.

* * *

It was strange for Hermione to be out after curfew and to not have to hide her intentions. She hugged her bag close and even winked at Mrs. Norris and her nosy caretaker, walking fast, though not far, to the professor's chambers.

She'd been here before, many times, for office consultations, but today, she was surprised to see the office had been transfigured into a plush room with cushions and a bed. Gone was the desk she sat across many times, and instead this warm, low lit room.

McGonagall smiled and waited for her, looking cozy in a dark red robe.

“Professor, the spells...?” Hermione started.

“Mostly illusory,” she replied, naming off what she'd done, what illusions here or transfigurations there. The desk, Hermione realized later, had become instead a trunk with accessories inside. It was incredible spellwork and Hermione wanted desperately to record this, but not to lose any of the moment by doing so.

“I'm glad you chose me,” McGonagall said, taking Hermione's bag from her. “I think this will be... educational for the both of us.”

“I hope so.”

“And please call me Minerva.”

“Okay.”

Minerva sat them both on a large cushion and waited for Hermione to settle.

“What questions do you have for me?”

“Oh,” Hermione said, glancing desperately at her bag, and then back at her waiting professor. So many questions were in mind, but none of them presently felt appropriate until after it happened. “I don't know where to start,” she confessed.

“You can ask me whatever you like, whenever you like,” Minerva assured. “Do you have any preferences or restrictions to what will happen tonight?” At Hermione's panicked look, she continued. “We will move slowly and progress only as far as you wish. My goal is that you experience a climax, and are able to feel the magic behind that climax. Have you ever climaxed before?”

“No,” she admitted. “Should I have?”

“Not particularly, I'm honored to experience this with you.”

“What kinds of things do you mean by 'preferences' or 'restrictions'?”

“Some would rather to to take a more active role, for example, or know their breasts have a particular sensitivity. As for restrictions, one might not enjoy their feet being touched or being kissed,” the woman explained, and Hermione stared at the woman's lips. “For myself, I don't like my ears being touched.”

“Oh.”

“You may not know what things you like or dislike just yet, but if you discover either when we're together, do let me know.”

“Right.”

“And Hermione? There's nothing wrong with being nervous. In fact, I think the nerves make the experience more pleasurable.”

Hermione let out a nervous laugh, feeling the tension break.

Well, nothing to be done if they were a foot apart. Hermione scooted closer to her until their knees touched. “Can I kiss you?” she asked.

“You may do whatever you like,” she replied.

“Except for the ears,” Hermione mumbled, coming closer. In movies, she'd seen people touch the other's cheek, and here she did so, enjoying the warmth of the woman, the way her body had fit into her lap and that space.

“Yes, those,” she said.

Their lips met. Hermione forgot to breathe, but that second felt electric and wonderful, those lips soft and malleable, and so unlike Victor's. They met again, and Hermione didn't know what she intended to do with that hand now, or if she should insert her tongue, when suddenly Minerva seemed to take control of the kiss and Hermione melted against her, her thoughts and body submitted entirely into the experience.

“Try laying down,” Minerva murmured into her neck, and Hermione reluctantly left the warmth, spreading herself out on their large cushion, feet dangled at the end. “I'm going to kiss you in various points of your body and let you feel your magic move through you.”

“The purple lines,” Hermione said.

“I see you've found that book,” she said, now speaking in a soft purr. Warmth returned as Minerva was now on top of her. “A favorite of mine.”

“Mine, too.”

A chuckle. She asked again if there were any parts of she should avoid, but Hermione could think of none. Her body was on fire and she was eager to be touched.

She kissed her first on the lips, and touched her chin, and neck (she liked that), her shoulders and so forth. Hermione removed her top and breathlessly requested for those kisses to linger on her breasts, which the woman was happy to oblige. Her magic vibrated under her skin, and Hermione thought of when she first received her wand, that first, sudden thrill that felt so similar. They removed her shoes and her pants and Hermione tried to concentrate on the kisses traveling now up her leg, now to her thigh, she was panting, slick with sweat, the kisses stopped short of her sex. A whine escaped her lips.

“What about you?” Hermione managed to ask, gesturing to the robe. “Can I - to you?”

The woman smiled and they switched places. Hermione's wild hair swung in front of her eyes to which she quickly wound up with a wristband she'd brought for that very reason and she straddled her, hardly daring her lucky situation. Warmth radiated between their sexes, but Hermione had no idea what to do about that, instead bending down to scatter her own kisses across the woman's flushed skin. She untied that robe and uncovered the full set of breasts there. She knew how good it felt to be kissed there, and made to do so, kissing becoming sucking, the woman below her moaning softly at this change. So caught up with how responsive it made her partner, Hermione returned again and again to those breasts, applying a bit more pressure each time. Skin tasted good, like salt, she had read, but it seemed like something better.

Now, impatient, and sore, she faced the woman's sex and studied the folded, flower of skin, the prominent beaded nerve, and the wet cavern below. Minerva had avoided it on her, but wasn't this the center of what they were doing?

“Do you mind if I...?” Hermione asked.

“Not at all.”

“Should I wash my hands?”

“That's not necessary,” she said, and then a gasp, as Hermione rubbed that bundle of nerves, the clit. “Merlin...” She allowed a Hermione a few moments more of exploring before removing her hands and sitting up.

“There are... instruments I could wear to simulate a penis,” she said, breathless now. “If that is something...”

“No,” she answered, just as breathless. “I read... there's a way without that sort of -”

And quite suddenly Hermione was on her back with a leg bent high in the air and the woman posed between her legs, close, but not touching.

“Like this?” she asked, smiling down at her.

“Yes,” Hermione said, and then “please - I would like -”

“It will happen quickly,” Minerva warned, rubbing her leg. “The rush of magic, the climax-” more was said, but Hermione's mind went blank because Minerva herself, her core, was against her now, sex to sex, and moving against her. Hermione grabbed at her own leg and held it as close to her chest as she could as her body responded, moved on its own to match the thrusts against her and raced along with her. Etiquette required she climax with her partner, but etiquette was out the window, it felt too bloody good, she was only peripherally aware of crying out, the sound of their bodies meeting, the loud roar of her magic. Her body first coiled tightly within itself, and then a POP BANG WOW, the little death she'd read about. Her vision went black, and returned to the woman beside her now.

“Goodness,” she said, locating her glasses, having come herself. “That was _something_.”

Hermione's body gravitated toward her, molding against the warmth and comfort.

“Can we do that again?”

That catlike smirk returned.

“Whatever you like.”

* * *

That evening Hermione learned she liked every inch of her body touched - without question - as long as she was being touched. She came next with the woman's hand circling her clit slow and teasingly, Hermione's head buried into her neck and her body clinging close to hers, and then again, right after that, when that hand hadn't stopped moving. Later, they'd talked about magic and sex and all of that in between until, horny all over again, Hermione climbed now on top of the other, and rode enthusiastically into another climax.

Somehow after all that, Hermione was able to locate her clothes, put them back on, take hold of her bag and jelly-legged return to her room.

A shower would have to wait.

Homework would have to wait.

She sank into her bed and fell asleep with her hands between her legs, a smile on her lips. She had the title of a few new books to study for her research as well as a few spell to try. And gods... she'd just had sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies. Did you think I'd abandon you all? No! The story must come out! My question for you all now... what are your favorite fics to rub one out to?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some dialogue with Hagrid and I decided not to go for the cockney accent bit, so please just consider it as translated (I'm really lazy ;;) Enjoy!

“Can you imagine if your first time was with a _teacher_?” Draco said, loud enough for the rest of the classroom to hear him. He was addressing his fellow Slytherins, who all sniggered at him, but of course, this barb was directed at the goodie-good Gryffindors, and to Harry Potter above all, who had apparently been moony over Professor Snape for the past few weeks after apparently being wanked.

“Oh yeah,” Hermione Granger was quick to speak up, “_Horrible_ idea to keep our magic safe in a controlled environment.”

“Never a problem for me,” Draco called out.

“Guess you don't have a lot of magic to begin with,” Harry Potter said. Before Draco could reply to this insult (and he had a VERY good reply to that idiot!), Harry Potter was suddenly dragging his friends to a corner and whispering something excitedly.

“Well, run off then!” Draco called, though he was pointedly ignored. “Honestly though,” he said to his Slytherin fanbase. “A _teacher_?”

* * *

Draco was loathe to admit his own first time was not that long ago, a year in fact, but it was at least definitely before his classmates. What his imbecile classmates had was something so impersonal, so _educational_. Draco pitied the students that didn't have a caring father like he did. Though Snape was his godfather, he just couldn't picture even him cupping Draco's cheeks and kissing every inch of his flesh, as his father had done, with incredible patience and love. Who else would love Draco like his father, be so familiar with his body, as someone that had watched him grow? His father had warned Draco he'd be forever comparing this first sexual experience with every partner he'd have after, but how could Draco turn his father down?

Draco only wished it could happen again.

Convincing his father to take him over Christmas break was definitely on the agenda, but until then, Draco was painfully horny and would've rather died before seeing one of his professors for that sort of thing. He surveyed his classmates, but how could any of them possibly compare to Lucius Malfoy? Draco liked the way his father covered his entire body when he took him, the way his long hair tickled Draco's shoulders or back. He loved how carefully his father prepared him, and Merlin, he loved the way he fucked him.

Oh, he tried masturbation, everyone did that, but no spell could replace the working of his father's powerful muscles, the gentle press of his lips. Masturbation had been so utterly pathetic, he'd rather not do it at all for all the good it did for him.

He was absolutely going to go mad if he didn't get fucked soon.

The good thing about all this excess energy was it was doing wonders for his Quidditch performance; the downside, the Ravenclaw team was currently at the pitch, so that ruled out a round of practice. Draco set off instead for a walk around the grounds, usually always outside the bounds of the Forbidden Forest, but never actually _in _the forest. He was not _that_ stupid!

He first indulged in some thoughts about that night with his father, then began thinking about what potential partners he was willing to settle for until hols. He first ruled out most females (though some he wouldn't mind if they'd grow a dick for him). He knew Crabbe and Goyle would be more than eager to satisfy him if he asked, but he could just imagine how awful either would be. It would take... guidance, but they were his back-up plan (a coin-toss for either, he found them so utterly indistinguishable, honestly). Draco was somewhat interested in his Quidditch captain, but he'd heard the man was in a committed relationship, which would make any affair tricky.

Draco had just come to the edge of the Hogwarts grounds when, to his utter horror, Hagrid, that_ giant oaf Hagrid_, had had his enormous dick out in the open and was freely pissing in the woods. Draco was so transfixed by such an abominatable act, Draco watched the entire performance, and let Hagrid meet Draco's narrowed eyes. Even more shocking, the giant laughed, winked, and went further into the forest.

_Just like the beast he is_, Draco thought savagely, but all the while acknowledging a flaccid dick already enormous, must be... truly monstrous. Draco beat down his own aroused, traitorous dick, and stalked back towards the castle, more annoyed than he'd been before his walk.

* * *

Draco was doubly horrified to learn the passing thought of how enormous a giant's cock could be, had quickly invaded his thoughts, and this was coupled with the other things he knew about Hagrid – not that he'd ever paid any attention to the animal before! Yet there he was, noticing how Hagrid could coax a bloody unicorn to his class, or the surprisingly gentle way he cared for the various other creatures he tended. Draco remembered he'd once had illegally smuggled a dragon, and was struck by the way that oaf must have preened over the little dragon. Did he even understand _danger_?

Of course not, because he still went into the bloody Forbidden Forest!

A few days later, on another of Draco's walks, he ran directly into the giant, who was making his way to the castle, and in the force of that impact, Draco had walked directly into the man's crotch. His head shot up, his lips parted to yell at the man, but he was instead taken by the image of fellating the other in his already half-aroused state, and instead stormed off.

Father, Draco then thought, I've become so depraved, I'm fantasizing about a halfbreed.

Which wasn't really his fault, because that giant cock was the only thing beside his father that could inspire any sort of sexual satisfaction to his horniness.

Actually, Draco mentally corrected, it's your fault, Father, for being so good at fucking, and then denying me another opportunity.

But Draco was caught off-guard by the memory of the Hagrid's gryphon attacking him in his third year, and the way Hagrid had carried him to the infirmary. Draco remembered flailing from the pain, and the other holding him more securely and somehow, the pain had been... less? And he'd, in his weakened state, had settled into the embrace, as he had been on the verge of fainting anyways. “Yer alright,” the man had said in his cockney accent, and he'd, at the moment, had felt, at least, not as hurt.

If he was going to do this...

Wait, was he really considering this?

If – and it was a big If – he was going to do this, he'd consult the man sometime outside of his sessions. Draco really had no idea how many students he entertained, but he figured enough to allow him to offer himself for the sex lessons, and he was absolutely not going to be caught in that man's hut by any of his contemporaries. Additionally, he would bribe the man with 50 galleons not to reveal that Draco had come to him, on pain of the worst lawsuit he could ever hope to encounter. Draco would tell his father the man had attempted to rape him, or something like that, and none would be any wiser.

Draco counted out his galleons that night and reminded himself he was a _Malfoy_ and there was nothing he couldn't have. Malfoys take what they want, his father had told him, and he'd seen him do it. He watched men rendered powerless in front of his father – his _Mother _even! Malfoys take what they want, his father said, and they don't apologize for it.

So Draco slipped out of his dorms, galleons in pocket, and crept down to gamekeeper's hut.

* * *

“Is something the matter?” Hagrid said and Draco swallowed past the earthy smell that oozed from his hut. Draco had never been there before, but it a downright pitiful arrangement – a single room divided in quarters by a kitchen, bath, sitting area, and... bedroom? Hagrid's mutt took up an incredible amount of room on its own.... and now _it_ was staring at him.

“I have a proposition for you,” Draco said, regaining his composure. He slid into the hut, and propped himself up on Hagrid's bed. He then crossed his legs, and held up his bag of galleons.

“Now, I don't want to be involved in anything a Malfoy is involved with,” Hagrid said, shutting his door anyways.

“What? I'm offering _myself_,” Draco said, and then shook the bag of gold.

“You're offering what?”

Giants really were that dense? “I need you to fuck me,” Draco said. “50 galleons, and no one hears of it, or my father will _see to it_.”

Hagrid blinked at him a moment, then, amazingly, shook his head. “You've got it wrong,” he said. “I don't see students on Wednesdays, it's just Thursdays, Fridays for me. That is, er, what you're asking about? The night sessions?”

“I can't _wait_ for Thursday,” Draco hissed. “Got something better to do, have you?”

“Well,” Hagrid said, and thought a moment. “I don't really have anything, and you're already here...”

“Right,” Draco said, and now that this whole scenario was starting to feel very real, felt his own heart beat nervously. “Right, so, are we going to do this, or not?”

“Not your first time, is it?” the man chuckled, actually _dared _to chuckle.

“Of course not!”

Hagrid came toward him, and Draco felt his skin flush.

“Are you -” Draco started, glancing at the mutt on the floor, “are you just going to leave that in here?”

“He won't bother you.”

“Well, I want him out!”

“This is Fang's home,” Hagrid said. “He stays.”

“But-”

But _that_ but was cut off with a sudden press of Hagrid's mouth to Draco's, with a whole onslaught of beard covering Draco's nose and chin. Hagrid towered over Draco and Draco found himself clinging to the man's cloak for leverage, his own tongue a confused mass battling something much larger, much stronger.

“Yer not the first student to come to me,” Hagrid said, opening Draco's robe and stroking the boy's chest. “Curious about my size, I suppose.”

“Why else?” Draco said, now breathless.

His hand paused, and Draco almost regretted his comment.

“You didn't need to bring galleons,” Hagrid then said. “I enjoy taking care of my students."

“Course you would,” he said, never able to stop his mouth. “I bet you've never had anyone as beautiful as me in your bed.”

“Right you are,” Hagrid agreed, and the softness in his voice made Draco loosen the grip he still had on Hagrid's cloak. “You are safe with me, Mr. Malfoy,” he then said, and Draco felt the strangest feeling he might cry. But why? Before he could examine that any further, Hagrid was kissing him again, and now working his own cloak off. Draco's hand shot down to examine the cock that had so recently haunted him, and shivered at the girth he met. _It would tear him apart_!

He gazed up at the man and worked his hand clumsily up and down the length he could reach. Hagrid in turn sighed and groaned.

“I want...” Draco started, and then wasn't sure if he could admit this request. “I...” he started again.

“Tell me, Draco.”

“I want to suck you off,” Draco said, and felt as if his entire body was inflamed.

Hagrid didn't make fun of him, or recoil at the request (or the many other things Draco thought might happen), but instead considered a moment than sat on the edge of the bed and scooted up. From this angle, Draco got a good luck at Hagrid's body, large, and harry, and incredibly muscular. Draco placed his hands on the man's legs and followed them to his waist. Again, he smelled something profoundly earthy, but he didn't hate it. He wasn't even sure if his jaw could open far enough, but open it had to – how else could he consider Hagrid entering him? He lowered his mouth to that giant cock and licked experimentally – unlike his father's, this cock was salty, but not bad. His eyes darted up to the giant's, and was surprised again by the expression he was met with. There was something tender, and longing, and Merlin, lust, too. He had this man completely captivated!

Renewed with confidence, he locked his lips around the head of his cock, and let his tongue make up for where his mouth couldn't reach. Surely, he looked absurd, but he was so transfixed by the man's reactions – the jerk of his leg, the groan he admitted, and the soft rumble “Very good, Draco.”

He moved his hands on the length of the cock, and toyed with the large balls underneath, then moving his mouth there too and sucked determinedly, mouthing first one ball, the other, and then sucking in the middle. Everything he did rewarded him with grunts and moans. His own cock was a ramrod, driving hard into Hagrid's hairy leg and begging for its own release.

Quite suddenly, Hagrid guided Draco's head up and their mouths to move, and Draco writhed above him, unsure where to put his hands, how enthusiastically he'd been humping against the man until the man stopped him.

“You won't last long at this rate,” he laughed and then flipped him easily over and onto his stomach. What did it matter, Draco thought, he wanted to come _so badly_, and he tried to bring himself off by rubbing himself into Hagrid's sheets, earning him another laugh.

Bastard, bastard, bastard, he thought, as Hagrid again stopped him. He put a knuckle against Draco's cock, and suddenly, he couldn't will himself to come, he was caught somewhere in between that edge, in agony.

And then – oh Merlin, Hagrid's mouth was on his ass and his tongue was moving against the that tight ring of muscle that had been long neglected and he really was crying because it felt so _fucking _god. His father had _not _done this, and oh, he really _should_ because it was the best thing Draco had ever felt in his entire life.

“Fuck, oh fuck me, please fuck me,” Draco babbled, and that glorious tongue stopped writhing inside him. He twisted around and he met with the man's hesitation.

“It'll hurt,” he said.

“I don't care,” Draco wanted to howl. “I haven't thought of anything but being fucked by that cock!”

Hagrid then yanked his hips up and he'd started again fucking Draco with his tongue, though this time he was probing further, and then adding a finger into his ass, and this was already more than he'd ever handled. Why hadn't he properly prepared for this, why hadn't be worked up to opening himself up? He gritted his teeth and refused to react, but just as he felt his muscles adjusting to this finger, another entered, and he was back to gritting his teeth, and ignoring the hair brushing uncomfortably against his skin.

“All right,” he said at last, fingers and tongue now gone from inside Draco. “I'm going to enter you. Relax for me.”

“Relax?” he screeched, and felt Hagrid's large hands stroking his legs, and his spine, and as his shoulders loosened, he felt that cock – finally that cock- poised at his entrance. Hagrid's arms guided him backwards until Draco was impaling himself on that massive cock, shouting as Hagrid was saying “easy, easy” as if he were some crazed animal.

Hagrid had only just entered him, and had begun stroking Draco's cramped stomach, waiting for him to be ready for more, Draco realized, and he too, took a few steadying breaths before the painful pressure had folded over into pleasure. Draco rocked back, the cock slid further in, and again, Draco waited for the pain to subside.

“Good, good,” the man rumbled. “Show me how far you can take it.”

“All of it,” Draco said, but another inch slid in and Draco was gritting his teeth and waiting for his stomach to settle all over again. “Fuck.”

“There?” he asked, and Draco was loathe to reply that it was, in fact, there.

“That's further than most,” Hagrid continued in the silence, and then quite suddenly, he was pulling out, and Draco was scrambling for his own barings, which was unnecessary, because Hagrid's hand was still cupped around his middle. He entered again, and Draco saw stars, as there was a rhythm now starting between their bodies. Draco whimpered and the pace quickened, these measured barbs inside him, breaking him, but fuck, it was good, so good, and Hagrid's hand was moving frantically on Draco's own cock, enveloping him into his own hole to fuck, that Draco's back arched suddenly as he cried and came, Hagrid never stopping his hand, but his cock too soon pulling away and spurting his back with a huge shock of come.

Hagrid let him go, and Draco fell onto the bed, a weak puddle of a wizard. Distantly, he felt Hagrid cleaning his back, and then draping his robes back over him again, but Draco couldn't be bothered to move just yet. Hagrid had just fucked him, a _halfbreed_ had just fucked him, and he had never felt so satisfied in his entire life. Draco turned over and examined the man as he was then wiping down his crotch, and replacing his own clothes. His eyes locked onto the now semi-hard cock and felt satisfied to have taken it at all.

Hagrid locked eyes with Draco's then and he quickly dropped his smirk.

“No one must hear of this,” Draco said, the threat low in his throat.

“Dumbledore has asked that these sessions remain confidential,” Hagrid returned. He then dropped Draco's galleon bag on his open lap and smiled down at him. “Come back anytime.”

Would he debase himself like that again? Draco quickly tied his robes in place and shoved the money deep into his pocket. Hagrid lifted his hand, as he dared to touch Draco, and then dropped it again. They stared each other a moment more and for an insane moment, Draco thought about kissing him once more, if not just to be covered by his large body once more.

_You are safe with me, Mr. Malfoy_.

Draco dropped his gaze and tried standing, aware that he would have to be careful about the way he walked the next morning. Or, he reasoned, he could just take a sick day and avoid the whole trouble of it. He slunk back towards Hogwarts and wondered, as he often did, if he might receive a letter from his Father the next day, if he would bother answering Draco's last letter.

He pulled his robe tighter to his body and went directly to his four-poster bed, sinking down into the plush without bothering with washing. He smelled like musk, dirt, and sex, and found he quite liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, how is everyone holding up with the pandemic? I'm in a city that is trying to ruin the whole state's reputation (in a country with the worse response to COVID19... like... in the history of forever), and I'm just personally keeping my head down and obsessively designing my Animal Crossing Island. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! My friend had me read a Snape/ Hagrid, and my eyes have honestly been open to the possibility of BIG DICK + taming of angsty, horny boys. Hopefully there won't be so long a gap between this chapter and the next, but, like Tinkerbell, if ya'll clap enough times, I may be revived.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a lot of ideas for what this story will show, but I'm eager for some feedback. Is there a pairing you want to see happen? What are your wildest and most dirty fantasies? Want a golden trio moment? An all out orgy? ....it involves centaurs, doesn't it?
> 
> Also anyone that wants to contribute, let me know and we can link up. Erotica writers UNITE!


End file.
